


I've Got a Crazy Feeling

by daisyisawriter91



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Azazel (Supernatural)'s Special Children, Benny needs help, Case Fic, Demonic Possession, Demons, Fangirls, M/M, Psychic Abilities, Season/Series 08
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-27
Updated: 2018-09-25
Packaged: 2019-03-24 14:08:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13812792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daisyisawriter91/pseuds/daisyisawriter91
Summary: When a few odd killings attract Sam and Dean to a small town in Missouri, they head over, only to find they can't find a common thread in the victims. Even their third, Benny, whom Dean brought along to keep an eye on, is stumped. Enter the eccentric psychic, Garth.





	1. Chapter 1

Angelica Green sat at her laptop, thick brown hair in a bun atop her head, screen near blinding in the total darkness of her apartment. Her legs were tucked beneath her, a long-cold coffee on the end table beside her was simply filling space.   
The window in the far corner of the messy apartment was wide open, letting in the sound of cicadas and the scent of a breezy summer night.  
Her fingers were flying across the keyboard, typing like there was nothing else in the world she _could_ do.  
Music blared into her ears from white earbuds, guitar audible to the outside viewer. Her nails were covered in chipped red polish and chewed to nearly the beds.  
There was a knock at the door. Angelica didn’t notice it, her music blocking the entirety of the outside world. Another knock, more insistent this time.   
Angelica ripped out her earbuds and groaned, slowly standing.  
“It’s two o’clock in the morning, who is it?” She whined, stumbling towards the door. She reached the door, flicked on the light, and pulled it open. When she saw who was standing there, her jaw dropped open.  
“Hello, Miss Green. May I come in?” Asked the accented voice of the visitor. Mutely, Angelica nodded and stepped out of the entryway, allowing the visitor inside.  
He wore a blue suit and a long brown coat, his hair spiked slightly upwards. His eyes had a wry gleam in them, lines beginning to form at the sides.  
“Wh-what are you…?” Angelica began.  
“Doing here? Why, I’m only here to see my favorite girl!” The visitor answered.   
Angelica was speechless. Only in her wildest fantasies did this happen. She thought it was possible she was asleep on her couch, and this was but a dream.  
The visitor strode to her and tilted her chin up.  
“Oh, Angelica…” He said, smirk growing on his face. “I do so wish I was sorry.” Angelica frowned, still too shocked to verbally express her confusion. The visitor’s eyes flicked to pure black.  
Seconds later, blood splattered the wall.  
Angelica Green fell to the ground, throat slit, dead. As for her visitor, he stepped over her corpse without a care in the world.  
He stepped out of the apartment and closed the door behind him.

 

Garth Fitzgerald IV was having a rather good day. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, and people seemed to be particularly friendly to each other that day.  
Garth’s earbuds were in, his iPod slipped comfortably into the pocket of his jeans. A song was blaring so loudly that he knew others could hear, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. How could he care if people were annoyed when his favorite song was playing?  
Garth spun on his heel, dancing unashamedly in public to the song. Some people he passed gave him an odd look, others simply smiled because they knew him.  
The connection was freely open, allowing him to know just what others needed. He bent down, barely breaking stride, to pick a wildflower. He gave it to the lady nearby who was fighting off tears.   
“You’re very beautiful, miss.” He said, attempting to keep his voice at normal level. Thankfully, the woman (who was truly quite beautiful), smiled at him and took the flower.  
Garth continued on his way. He made a wide berth around the man who _definitely didn’t want interaction_. Instead, he high-fived the little girl who had just done something amazing and wanted acknowledgment that no one was giving.   
“Good job, little miss thang!” He cheered to her. She gave a small giggle and went to join her parents.  
Garth swung his hips as he walked away, knowing there was a goofy grin on his face. He’d embraced that feature long ago, and knew it could help spread the joy.   
As you have likely guessed, Garth was a psychic. Among the best empaths alive, with the ability to peek into people’s hearts and minds. He never moved anything around, though he could, just figured out what would make them feel better.  
As he passed her, he grabbed one of his friends, an older lady named Dorothy, and did a little dance with her. He spun her around, never breaking rhythm. It made her laugh, and that was his goal. She waved at him as he walked away.  
He did a small hop over some sidewalk chalk and saw two little kids, a boy and a girl, coloring to their hearts’ content. He knelt down, grabbed a piece of yellow chalk, and added a sun. He gave a bright smile to the kids and went on.  
Finally, he reached his destination. The local grocer’s. He turned off his music (and the psychic connection) and went inside, familiar smell greeting him immediately.  
Ricky’s place was a small store that continually smelled of dust and hay, no matter how much he cleaned it. This was because it used to be a barn. The shelves were filled with mostly organic stuff and were bolted to the ground so as not to fall over.  
Ricky, himself, was in his forties. His hair was peppered with gray, but other than that, his age didn’t show much. Garth would never tell him, but much of the way Ricky dressed, acted, and looked, reminded him of young Lando Calrissian.  
“Hey, Garth! Lookin’ good!” Ricky called.  
“Feeling good, Ricky!” Garth said back.   
Garth perused the stacks, leisurely, eyes flicking over the selection.   
“Got any pineapple? I’m craving some like you wouldn’t believe.” Garth said. He turned, and nearly jumped into the stacks.  
Three men, very _big_ men, had snuck up behind him. One was bigger than Garth had ever seen with long hair, one was around Garth’s height but with more muscle mass and a frown, and the third was the shortest, but seemingly, the kindest.  
“Can I…Can I help you?” Garth asked, hesitantly.   
“You tell us.” The frowning man barked.  
“What’re you talking about, fella?” Garth feigned innocence.   
If he was about to get killed for his psychic powers, well…it wouldn’t be the first time somebody tried. It wouldn’t be the first time that same somebody failed.  
“Dean, cool it.” The tallest man muttered.  
 _Dean_ …The name connected somewhere in Garth’s head, but he couldn’t recall where.   
“Alright, listen, two girls are dead,” The tallest man continued, holding his hands in a peaceful manner. “We need your help to find out who’s next.”   
“How can I help?” Garth continued to evade the question.  
“You are the psychic, right?” The shortest of the three asked in a southern drawl. Garth heaved a sigh and prepared himself to run.  
“I am. Garth Fitzgerald IV. Pleasure.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for this long overdue update. My mental health took a dip, and I needed to recover before I came back. But, I'm doing better, and falling back in love with this story. Please enjoy!

_48 Hours Earlier_  
Sam sat in front of his laptop, light reflecting in his eyes as he scanned the page. A news article about an odd, inexplicable death of a twenty-year-old. No signs of forced entry, no fingerprints, no murder weapons. Sounded like a case to Sam.  
Dean walked into the bunker’s library, where Sam sat, beer in his hand. Dean sat across from him and popped off the cap.  
“So, get this. Girl in her Missouri apartment gets her throat slashed at two AM. No explanation, no forced entry, no murder weapon. Think it’s a case?” Sam questioned.  
“Any security cam footage?” Dean countered.  
“Not in her apartment. But listen to this. ‘Authorities claim the entire apartment smells of rotten eggs.’”  
“Sulfur?”  
“Sounds like. Worth checking out, at least.” Sam proposed. Dean set down his beer and ran a hand over his face. A gesture Sam knew well. He was not going to like what came next.  
“Alright, listen, Sammy…we’re not going on this hunt alone.” Dean revealed. Sam guffawed.  
“What, Dean, you think we can’t take care of some low-life demon?”  
“I know we can, Sam. But this guy…he needs our help. And I ain’t about to cut him loose when he needs us most.” Dean said, firmly. Sam had a sinking feeling he knew who Dean was talking about.  
“Don’t tell me.” Sam muttered.  
“Benny needs us. He does. The stubborn bastard’ll never admit it, but he’s gonna slip without some help. And I’m not gonna let that happen, not to him.” Dean insisted.  
“Why do you care so much?” Sam demanded.  
“I care because without him, I’d still be in Purgatory, and so would Cas! We’d be dead!” Dean struggled to control his voice. “C’mon, man. You’re knocking him without even giving him a chance. He isn’t just some run-of-the-mill vamp, he’s my friend.” Dean concluded, going quiet on the last syllable.  
The sincerity on his brother’s face finally broke him.  
“Fine. But one slip, just one, and I take him out. No exceptions. And don’t expect me to get all chummy with him just because he’s in the backseat.”  
“Okay. If that’s what it takes, okay.” Dean conceded. “Just give him a chance.”  
“I will. But, one wrong move.” Sam emphasized.   
He didn’t trust Benny as far as he could throw him. But, for just this once, he needed to place his faith in Dean’s judgement. Who knows? It could turn out great.  
As soon as the thought entered his head, Sam scoffed.  
Like trusting Dean’s judgement ever turned out great, in the end. If both of them made it out alive, Sam would consider it a win.

 

Benny wasn’t entirely certain how he’d been persuaded to do this. Going on a hunt with two people who usually hunted his kind? Probably not the greatest idea. But Dean had a way of convincing people to do just about anything, in a way that made you wonder how you _ever_ agreed to it.  
Benny, Sam, and Dean had all cornered this poor guy at a supermarket, searching for a psychic that he supposedly was.  
They had no links between the two victims, other than their gender, and the murders were committed differently, but with the same smell of sulfur in the air. They needed a psychic to help out in any way possible. And a woman named Missouri recommended a good one.  
The guy didn’t look like a psychic. Than again, Benny didn’t look like a vampire, so he supposed appearances weren’t much to go on.  
Tall and skinny, he looked much more likely to be some sort of banker than he did a psychic. And he was clearly terrified of the burly men leering over him. As Benny would be, too.  
“Can I…Can I help you?” The man asked, hesitantly. They’d approached him while he was asking for pineapple, so he was understandably rattled.   
“You tell us.” Dean barked. Even Benny flinched a little bit. Dean could stand to be a little nicer every once in a while.  
“What’re you talking about, fella?” The man questioned, clearly feigning innocence. Benny wondered how people treated him when they learned he was a psychic. Only abuse could bring about that much fear when asked.  
“Dean, cool it.” Sam muttered.  
A glint of recognition appeared in the man’s eyes upon hearing ‘Dean’. Benny wondered about that for a long moment.  
“Alright, listen, two girls are dead,” Sam continued, holding his hands in a peaceful manner. “We need your help to find out who’s next.”   
“How can I help?” The man asked, almost oblivious. Benny got the sense he knew exactly what they were asking. This guy wasn’t stupid.   
“You _are_ the psychic, right?” Benny asked, hoping to come off in a gentle manner. He really didn’t want this guy to bolt like a startled rabbit.  
“I am.” He extended his hand. “Garth Fitzgerald IV. Pleasure.”  
The name fit so well. Benny hadn’t learned it, as he hadn’t been present for the conversation with the mysterious ‘Missouri’.   
Benny took Garth’s hand and gave it a shake.  
“My apologies for my rough-around-the-edges friends. My name is Benny. The angry one is Dean, the tall one is Sam.” Benny said, smiling. “Some people just don’t know how to treat others.”  
“Hey!” Dean protested.  
“Dean, do you know how to have a conversation without shouting?” Benny countered. Dean opened his mouth to protest, but reconsidered and shut it. “We really do need your help, though. A woman named Missouri said you could do the job.”  
“Wait. Missouri Moseley sent you?” Garth asked.  
“Yeah. She said you were one of the best.” Sam replied. Garth grinned, widely.  
“Why didn’t you start with that? I’d do anything for that woman! Come on, come on! Let’s head back to my house, we can talk everything over there.” Garth suggested.  
“Aren’t you gonna…prove your skills or whatever?” Dean asked.  
“In public? If Missouri Moseley sent you, you’re hunters. And if your names are Sam and Dean, you’re the Winchesters. Y’all got some baggage I can’t learn about in public without causing a big ol’ scene.” Garth concluded, still smiling.   
In that very moment, Benny knew he was gonna like this guy. He just steadfastly ignored how Garth’s smile lit up his entire face. It wouldn’t do him any good to focus on that.


	3. Chapter 3

Garth had led the three of them to an old Victorian house painted a bright sunflower yellow. Judging by what Benny had seen of the quirky psychic thus far, that was Garth’s doing, not any Victorian’s.  
The wrap-around porch needed a fresh coat of paint, and the windows had likely been cleaner, but it was a charming place.  
The steps, Benny told himself, sounded worse than they actually were. They weren’t going to give under the combined weight of three giants and Benny, the only average sized man among them. At least, he hoped. For good measure, he sent off a prayer to any god who would listen.  
Garth stopped in front of the brown door painted with sunflowers and fumbled for his keys, which had a dog pendant chained to it.  
The welcome mat was a simple circle with bluebells woven in, metal wind chimes clanked lazily together in the autumn air. A whicker porch swing creaked with the floorboards.  
Garth finally unlocked the door and pushed it open with a grin.   
“Welcome to Casa de Fitzgerald!” He said, cheerily.  
Sam and Dean barged in, Sam only sparing him a smile and an awkward nod. Benny followed them.  
“Thank you, brother.” Benny tipped his cap in an effort to be polite. Garth grinned back at him.  
“Thanks for your efforts, Benny, but I don’t mind a little impoliteness.” Garth replied to his unspoken thoughts. Benny shouldn’t have been as surprised as he was.   
Garth leaned against the doorframe, and, knowing that the connection between the two of them was up an running, Benny tried desperately not to look at or even think about the way Garth’s torso bent to accommodate the position.   
“See, everybody who walks through that there door is a work in progress. No getting around it. Monster, human, angel, don’t matter. In the end, they’re just trying to figure it out.” Garth said.  
“What about you? You walk through that door everyday, don’t you?” Benny challenged. For a moment, he worried he’d made a misstep, but Garth just smiled.  
“Who said I wasn’t the biggest fixer-upper ever known to man? Hell, I _live_ in the house for screw-ups and low-lifes. What does that say about me?” Garth waggled his eyebrows before gesturing for Benny to enter.  
Benny only dimly heard the door closing as he surveyed the interior, awestruck. The walls were carved with sigils, so deeply into the wood and brick that they were near indistinguishable from the paintings and photos strewn about. Both Sam and Dean were already marveling at the sight.  
Another glance at the shelves allowed Benny to see a myriad of hunters’ tools. Shotguns, salt containers, charms and bullets, dead man’s blood, and other things Benny had seen but couldn’t recognize.  
“What? Did you think I wouldn’t be prepared?” Garth’s voice broke through the wonderment in Benny’s mind.  
He gave the brothers and Benny a wry smile before he lead them to a sun soaked living room, innocent on the surface, with a plush armchair and a well worn couch, much darker with a closer look at the amount of knives. There was no way of telling how much warding Garth had in the house. How many precautions he had against things like Benny.  
Garth sat on the chair across from the couch, putting his feet up on the stained coffee table, which was littered with mugs and papers full of too many smells for Benny to take.   
He and the Winchesters sat across from him, awkwardly in a row, Dean pointedly between Sam and Benny.  
“Now. You said you’ve got a case about dead girls. Let’s get right to it.” Garth suggested, smile still lingering at the corners of his mouth.  
“Wait, wait, wait. I got a few questions.” Dean interjected.  
“I don’t even have to open our connection to know what they are.” Garth said. “No, I’m not a hunter. I’m kinda like a counselor for monsters. Try and get ‘em to go clean. Doesn’t always work, so I had to arm myself, in knowledge and gear. When I see an attack coming, I’ve only got a few seconds strike first. Had to make sure I could.” Garth ended the statement with a noncommittal shrug.  
“You…rehabilitate monsters?” Sam questioned.  
“Something like that. Only the ones I know are good.” Garth answered. “Not everybody who’s different is bad.”  
“Okay, say for a minute I’m cool with that,” Dean began. Benny raised a brow, suspiciously. Wasn’t that precisely why Benny was there? “Why all the demon sigils?”  
“Well, ain’t that a story.” Garth settled back in the chair. “It was ‘bout ’06, maybe ’07 when demons cam a-knocking. Never dealt with ‘em before. They kept spilling some nonsense about Azazel and demon blood.” As Garth spoke, Sam and Dean tensed. “I didn’t understand what the hell they were talking about, but I knew I was in deep shit. I held ‘em off just long enough for some backup to arrive. Hunter named Ellen. She scared ‘em away and made me a drink. Introduced me to the life and taught me what I needed to know.”  
“Ellen?” Sam breathed. “Ellen Harvelle?”   
“Yeah, that’s the one.” Garth smiled at the mention of her name.  
“She’s dead.” Sam revealed. Garth’s face immediately fell.   
“She…she’s dead?” Garth repeated, voice hollow. His eyes slowly turned red, filling with unshed tears. Benny wanted to reach over and give him a hug. “For how long?” Garth sniffled.  
“Three years.” Dean answered, shortly. It was clearly a sore spot, and Benny chose not to ask.  
A tear slid down Garth’s cheek as he licked his lips.  
“Dammit. She was one of the good ones…” Garth trailed off. He hung his head in his hand, leaning forward onto his knees.  
“Can we please get back to the case? Mysterious dead girls? Let what’s in the past stay there.” Dean snapped.  
“Dean.” Benny warned. Garth raised his head and wiped his eyes.  
“No, he’s right. Ellen wouldn’t like me like this, ‘specially when there’s people to be saved.” Garth righted his posture. “Tell me the skinny.”  
Dean sized him up, and it was clear what his judgement was.  
“I’m not sure you can handle it.” Dean determined. Garth’s eyes steeled over.  
“Look. Just because I’m not an emotionally constipated, over-masculine pretty boy doesn’t mean I’m not tough as nails.” Garth snapped. “And yeah, I can read your mind without even trying, I’ve seen your type before. So get to the damn case already.” Garth folded his arms over his chest and sat back in his chair, jaw setting into place. Dean nodded his approval.  
“Alright, two dead girls with their throats slashed but no forced entry, no murder weapon, no nothing. Place reeked of sulfur.” Dean instructed. “Missouri told us you could help. Not sure how, but she said you could.”  
Garth looked to be deep in thought, adjusting his jaw.  
“Anything in common?” Garth finally asked.  
“Just the gender and the method. One was a white girl in her early twenties, the other was a black woman in her late forties. The white girl, Angelica Green, died at around two in the morning, while the other one, Rose, died at about four in the afternoon.” Sam said.  
Garth considered for a tense moment before he stood.   
“I see why Missouri sent you. We’re heading to the morgue, we can close this case in a couple days, max.” Garth ordered.  
“Why are we going to the morgue? We just looked there!” Dean protested.  
“I’ll tell you when we get there. You two suit up, look like feds, I’m taking Benny with me because I like him more.” Garth answered. Benny tried to make his face look normal, but he could feel it heating up.  
“Dude, maybe you shouldn’t do that…” Sam trailed off, warily eyeing Benny from across the couch.   
“Why? Because he’s a vampire? Yeah, figured that out right quick. I also figured out that if he had to choose between death and hurting somebody like me, he’d choose death. I’m not worried.” Garth smiled, warmly, at Benny, before striding back out the door.  
Benny stared after him for a moment before standing.  
“Gentlemen.” Benny tipped his hat towards the Winchesters. As he began to walk away, Sam grabbed his wrist.  
“One. Wrong. Move.” Sam reminded, ice in his eyes.  
“I haven’t precisely forgotten.” Benny answered, shaking off Sam’s hand and following Garth out the door.


End file.
